Beneath Your Eyes
by Wandering Child
Summary: OH HOLD. After DMC. James Norrington stands before the mirror in his bedroom, contemplating everything that has made him a colder, harder man, including the woman that he is now forced to marry, and a decision that will bring him to the world's end...
1. Beneath Your Eyes

Beneath Your Eyes

A/N:

Occurs after DMC (so possible spoilers). James Norrington stands before the mirror in his bedroom, contemplating everything that has made his a colder, harder man, including the woman that he will now be forced to marry. One shot, possibly longer if people think it should be continued. This is my first shot at PotC, so here goes nothing...

* * *

"_If you wish to claim these letters of mark, then you must have something to trade me?"_

_James nodded, throwing the worn leather pouch upon the desk. Beckett's eyes widened. James's remained stoic. _

"_The heart," he said simply, "of Davy Jones."_

The memory of that day still lingered in James's memory, pooling in the deep green of his eyes and threatening to suffocate him with an entire host of emotions. Two months, two months had gone by since then, since Beckett had left with the heart bound for God knows where, two months since he, James Norrington, the formerly disgraced James Norrington, had been given back a life.

_Commodore_. No, he was no commodore. His military days were far behind him. The letter of mark from Beckett had made him a privateer, a merchant captain. A civilian captain.

And a wealthy one at that.

James stared into the mirror that hung in his bedroom, brushing a lock of his long brown hair back behind his ear. No wig now. No officer's pomp. Just a black satin ribbon to hold his hair in a queue, brushed impeccably beneath the black tricorn cap.

_Don't look into you eyes James_.

If he did he might see regret. He might see a lie.

Two months. Two months since he had last seen Elizabeth Swann.

_Don't look into your eyes James_.

He glanced at the black cravat at his neck instead, adjusting it perfectly in the low candlelight of the late evening. His guest would be here soon.

_Don't look into your eyes James_.

Guest? Guest wasn't exactly the word that he should be using. He glanced at the large, canopied bed behind him. Soon his _guest_ would be sharing it. Lady Evelyn Beckett, sister of his Lordship, Cutler Beckett.

James's fiancée.

Evelyn Beckett had been part of the deal for the pardon. Lord Beckett had wanted his troublesome younger sister married off, and had seen fit to dump the apparently unweddable spinster upon Norrington. James for his own part did not care. Wife or no wife, what did it matter now? First he had lost Elizabeth to Turner, and then he had been forced to watch the way she looked at Sparrow…it had been unbearable.

James crashed his arm into his dresser, spilling a glass of dark red wine, sending the liquid careening onto the floor, staining the Persian carpet that lay beneath his black Hessian boots. Was he so repulsive then! That the one woman in his life that he had ever truly loved had abandoned him first for a blacksmith, and then for a pirate! What good was loyalty, what good was honor when they brought nothing but pain and darkness?

Elizabeth had been his light.

He should have stayed with her after Isla Cruces—he should have. Two months with no word on Elizabeth, Turner, Sparrow, or the Black Pearl. God in Heaven, what had become of them?

_Don't look into your eyes, James._

So instead, he looked at his hand, as the fleshy part beneath his thumb that was now dripping blood, torn by a piece of the broken wine glass. In the candlelight, the oozing liquid could almost be mistaken for black, black blood dripping from his black heart. And truly, black was what it was. All the goodness that James had lived off of, _thrived _off of for the first thirty five years of his life had been thrown back in his face. First by Elizabeth, then by the Royal navy—yes, he had done the right thing giving the heart to Beckett.

_Don't look into your eyes, James. _

The blood had reached the edge of his sleeve, crimson now against the crisp white linen of his shirt. It crossed James's mind that he should find something to bandage the wound, but he remained standing in place before his mirror, chained within the prison of his own thoughts, unable to move, barely able to breath.

He would have sailed to the ends of the earth for her, for his Elizabeth.

"You're a fool, Norrington." He whispered the words almost silently, bitterly, suffused with a hatred that hadn't existed until Jack Sparrow had come along.

The truth of it all cut him like a knife to the heart.

Jack Sparrow hadn't taught him to hate. Elizabeth Swann had.

He couldn't hate her, try as he might, he simply couldn't.

Not when it was so much easier to hate himself.

"Captain Norrington?"

He turned abruptly to find one of his many servants standing in the doorframe of his bedroom.

"What?" he answered annoyed.

"Forgive me Captain," the old butler replied, "but—." He was cut off and pushed out of the way by a woman.

"But I have been waiting in your damned parlor for nearly thirty minutes." Her voice filled the entire room. "If you find my presence so revolting Captain Norrington, then the least you could have done was informed me of your revulsion upon my arrival and then left me to my own devices."

Lady Evelyn Beckett's eye cut holes into him.

James's face was frozen, caught between outrage at her ridiculous impropriety and horror at the fact that he had become so engrossed once more in his thoughts of Elizabeth that he had not even known she had been downstairs this entire time.

"Leave," Norrington barked to the butler. With a bow, the man left, shutting the door behind him with a faint click.

James turned his sharp eyes upon his fiancée. "Sit."

Evelyn nodded, sitting regally upon the settee. She was a woman clearly raised within the confines of proper London society. Her posture was perfect, he body slim, and her skin white as porcelain. Her hands were delicate, crossed upon her lap, upon the dress of blue lace that she wore. Her hair was dark, spilling down her shoulders and held back with a golden clip in the shape of an insect. Soft lids blinked slowly over eyes the color of an overcast sky.

"How old are you?" He asked. In another lifetime, James Norrington would have received her properly in a parlor. In another lifetime, James Norrington would have offered her food and drink first, and inquired about her journey. In another lifetime, James Norrington would have been everything that he no longer was.

But that James Norrington was dead now.

"Twenty four," she replied in a steady voice.

"A spinster," James muttered.

"Thank you for stating the obvious," Evelyn replied quietly.

"Watch you tongue," he hissed, angry at her composure when he was so obviously off balance.

"Noted, Sir. I shall keep my eyes upon it at all times."

He stalked over towards this woman, a frail creature of her mid twenties who looked closer to seventeen. His tall body, larger now after those months drinking and brawling in Tortuga, loomed over her much smaller one.

"You dare mock me?"

"No Sir, forgive me," she answered too quickly. He noticed then that she was shaking.

James caught his reflection in the mirror once more. His mouth was set in a straight line, his neck was rigid with tension. The inane question of when he had last smiled entered his mind most unwelcome. He tried to remember—yes, it had been on the _Dauntless_, the day that Elizabeth had accepted his—

"Captain Norrington." Evelyn's voice dragged him back from the icy waters of his memory, dragging him up for air cruelly when he would have much rather drowned in the past

He listened to her, but he did not turn around. He couldn't, not when he could hear Elizabeth's voice in his head, promising that she would marry him. He could not face Evelyn Beckett, this imposter fiancée.

"Captain Norrington," she spoke, a slight quiver detectable on her lips, "I will not pretend that anything about this is easy. It's no grand adventure to be one half of a marriage so obviously unwanted."

James almost had the decency to deny her claim. Almost.

"But I am honor bound to marry you, at my brother's command. The least that you could do is allow me to accept that honor with a little pride."

Her words were like salt on a wound, and for the first time, James well and truly looked at the woman whom he would be marrying in two weeks time, and then after that taking to sea with him. Her words were admirable, the words of a woman with courage and spirit. A woman with honor.

There were a thousand things that he should have said. After all, she didn't want this marriage any more than he did. An honorable man would have comforted her, an honorable man would have kissed her forehead and spoke of the life that they could build, or the dreams they could share.

But dreams were a lie. James had learned that all too well. And after all, what good was honor? What good was anything?

Elizabeth had been missing for two months.

_Don't look into your eyes, James. _


	2. The Ill Sense of Foreboding

**A/N:**

So thank you so much to everyone who reviewed. I was completely taken aback by the response. You guys rock. Many of you said you would like to see this continue, and to tell the truth, I've fallen in love with this story and I'm only one chapter in, so I've decided to continue.I hope I can do it justice. On another note, to my PotO readers, LFK will be updated soon. Thank you for your patience.

Now, where were we?

* * *

**Chapter 2**

"Forgive me Captain, but where is my brother?" Evelyn cast her eyes to the floor, not wanting to meet the icy glare of her fiancé.

Norrington gave an insincere smile. "Your brother, my Lady? Your brother is out roaming the seas with the East India Trading Company. They have," he paused, "business to attend to."

"Oh," she replied, and for a moment James thought that he saw relief on her face, but only for a moment. In an instant it was scrunched up again with the same look of anxious discomfort that had plaguing her since the start of their conversation. "If my brother is not here, Captain, then where am I to stay?"

James cocked an eyebrow. "Here, Lady Beckett. You will stay here until our wedding, after which you will accompany me aboard my ship, _Regent_. I have goods that need to be run to the Bahamas.

Evelyn blanched. "Aboard your ship?" Her voice was a nervous whisper. "With you? And a crew?" Her fingers began to kneed nervously at the lace of her dress. "But I was under the impression that men don't, that is to say, that wives aren't usually welcome aboard ships, Captain."

He shrugged. "Usually, you are correct, but I expect that I will be away from you most of the time at sea. You will be mistress of this house, but before that I will require you in my company." He walked over to the writing desk in the corner, shuffling threw some manifests that he would need to get in order before the Regent set sail.

"Why is that, Sir?"

James bit his lip, annoyed. Idiot girl. Must he spell it out for her?

"Offspring, Lady Beckett."

"But then—oh." Oh. She was tight lipped once more, her skin suddenly much too hot and much too cold. Something about the way he had said "offspring" had made her blood chill with the ill sense of foreboding. "I see."

"Indeed," he muttered, adjusting the numbers on the manifest, his back to her. "Indeed I'm sure you do."

For a few precious moments, silence surrounded them.

"Captain?"

It wasn't so much that she was asking another question, but the way in which her voice sounded as she asked it—young, naïve, afraid—that made Norrington want to smash his fist into the wall. Instead, he grated his teeth and gave a clipped "what?" The woman was twenty four for God's sake. Why couldn't she just understand what he wanted of her and leave him in peace!

"Captain, won't it come across as," she chose her words carefully, "bad form, if I stay in the home of my fiancé before we are married?"

At that, James turned, his eyes glued to the timid creature sitting in his bedroom, pale and pathetic when compared even with the memory of Elizabeth Swann.

"You will find, my Lady," he said, his voice dangerously low, "that the citizens of Port Royale have a decidedly cautious air around me. They will say nothing."

"But Captain—"

"Josiah!" He barked, and instantly a middle aged servant came into the room.

"Yes, Captain Norrington?"

"Escort Lady Beckett to her rooms. I am done with her for the evening."

As Josiah led Evelyn Beckett away, James could have almost swore that he saw a flicker of rage in her dark gray eyes.

Almost.

* * *

Lady Evelyn Beckett, youngest child of the now dead Lord William Beckett and only sister of Lord Cutler Beckett, had endured many a trying moment in her young life. She had never lacked for anything material, not being the daughter of a lord, but other areas had been greatly lacking. Her brother, like their father before him, was a cold, calculating man, though Evelyn gave him her unwavering loyalty. She had become used to their cool treatment, their easy dismal—but had hoped for more from Norrington. She suppressed the foreign pang of anger with steady reason. 

_Don't be ridiculous, Evie How else do you expect to be treated?_

She had been at her townhouse in London when the letter had arrived, signed and sealed by her brother, commanding her to make the journey to Port Royale in the Caribbean. She had instantly packed her bags at his behest. There was a fiancé waiting for her, a James Norrington, the letter had said, a man that she knew nothing about.

But that didn't matter to Evelyn.

There was nothing left for her in London.

Not after all that had happened.

She had expected her fiancé to be an older man, perhaps a widower with children, what other man would marry a creature such as her? Twenty four and a spinster, with a reputation that was shaky at best. She had expected a man of authority, a man who would ignore her, perhaps. But the man that she had met here tonight, a younger man than she had expected, was a man whom authority ran through the very core. His eyes were ice, cold and hard and impenetrable. Evelyn could have dealt with a harsh man, perhaps even with a cruel one—

But this man was something much darker.

Something painful lurked in the depths of his bright green eyes.

A Commodore. He had once been a commodore in the British navy, but why he was no longer such had been kept from her by her brother.

"_You will find, my Lady, that the citizens of Port Royale have a decidedly cautious air around me."_

Evelyn Beckett was a woman kept in the dark.

"Here you go, Lady Beckett." A young maid turned down the comforter of the large, dark blue canopied bed, and Evelyn climbed in, grateful to be surrounded by the fresh linen of a bed that was anywhere but on a ship. She hated ships—or, at least the inside of them. She had been coped up on the one from England far too long to feel any other way.

"Good Lord," she said to the maid, "I couldn't imagine being a sailor, having to sleep in the hold of a ship for the majority of my life." She laughed, happy to have a young woman to speak with again. She had been too lonely for too lonely. "My nursemaids used to tell me tales of pirates to scare me into obedience, saying that they would drag me away with them to live on their ships." She fell easily into the memory, back long ago when her life had been so much simpler, when nothing had been expected of her beyond silence, and found the words spilling easily from her lips. "I was terrified of those stories, and yet I think a part of me loved them. Blackbeard, Captain Cook, Jack Sparrow."

The maid dropped the tray that she had been holding.

Evelyn bolted upright from the bed. "What? What's wrong, what did I say."

Forgive me, my Lady," the young girl begged, picking up the tray quickly, "but you must not say such things."

"What things?"

"Jack Sparrow."

The maid said the name in a hushed whisper, as if it were the worst of blasphemies.

Evelyn raised an eyebrow. "Why must I not?"

"Why the Commodore, of course, er Captain, as he is now." She narrowed her eyes at Evelyn. "Don't you know?"

Evelyn shook her head, enraptured.

"It was Jack Sparrow that brought the Commodore to his ruin, though he only chased after Sparrow because of what the Swann girl did."

Evelyn stood up, her white nightgown brushing her heels. "Captain Norrington, knew Jack Sparrow? Chased Jack Sparrow?" Disbelief shone in her eyes. "My God, that's—wait, the Swann girl? As in Elizabeth Swann?"

The maid nodded. "You know of her?"

"I know that she has been missing for quite some time. Even from the Caribbean, news travels. Or gossip travels I should say. A woman of the peerage doesn't go missing without a fare deal of London tongues wagging. The Swann's still have noble family in England."

The maid nodded. "Well you can imagine how it was here, and only months after she broke of her engagement to the Commodore, er, Captain."

"_You will find, my Lady, the citizens of Port Royale have a decidedly cautious air around me."_

Evelyn cocked her head, unsure of why she had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. "Captain Norrington was engaged to Miss Swann?"


	3. The Vulgar Nature of Curiosity

Chapter 3

An uneasy look came over the maid's face.

"Lady Beckett, forgive me, we shouldn't be speaking of such things."

"Like hell we shouldn't!" Evelyn instantly blushed at her own language. Weeks on a ship over from England had done nothing in terms of refining her vocabulary. She instantly mellowed her voice and changed tactics. "Please, I beg of you. I know nothing of this man, this man that I will be married to shortly."

Indecision was riddled over the young servants face.

"Please?"

"No one speaks of it Madame."

"No one will know you told me."

"Well—"

"Did he love her?" Evelyn instantly snapped her lips shut. _Christ Evie, where did that come from?_ And besides, what did that matter in the grand scheme of things? It certainly had nothing to do with her marriage.

"Oh yes, Madame!"

Evelyn's eyebrows rose. The question seemed to have been the key to opening up the maid's knowledge.

"Really?" She asked in a low voice. "Um, please, do tell?"

"It was so romantic, my Lady!" The young girl fell into a tangent of foolish romantic delight—losing sight of any fear that she had had only moments before. If Evelyn was thankful for anything it was this—the young and foolish days of her teenage years were far behind her. "He had just been promoted to Commodore, and Miss Swann, well she was the governor's daughter, beautiful and refined—you could hardly ask for a better match."

"Hardly," Evelyn replied dryly. "You mentioned that Swann did something to Captain Norrington."

"Oh, well yes. She fell in love with another man. A blacksmith. After she had already accepted the Master's proposal."

It was funny, but Evelyn had never felt a desire to kill a woman so much in her life. Not because of what Swann had done to Norrington—no nothing like that. Quite frankly, from knowing the Captain less than a day, she couldn't blame the woman for falling in love with—anything else, let alone _anyone. _But…

"Bloody hell." She winced; her mouth again. "Now I shall have to endure this man's jealousy and hatred of the female sex."

"Madame—" The maid's face had gone pale.

"Because the enviable Miss Swann had to go and fall in love." She gave a harsh laugh. What idiocy. Can women no longer recognize suitable marriages? No one falls in love." Cynicism laced itself suddenly through Evelyn's voice. "And now I shall have to put up what she left."

"Madame—"

"No wonder the man is so insufferable."

"Indeed," James's voice echoed smoothly from the doorway behind her. "No wonder."

* * *

James wasn't exactly sure why he had decided to walk past Evelyn Beckett's bedchamber. It was down a separate hallway from his own rooms, and after her journey he assumed that she would have just gone to bed.

And yet he walked past anyway.

Where he had expected to find silence, he had instead been met with the soft hum of female chatter.

That could never bode well.

Upstanding gentlemen never eavesdropped—luckily, James had reminded himself, his days as an upstanding gentleman had sunk to the depths with the Dauntless.

Beckett had been pleading with the maid—_whining was more like it—_for some sort or information. He pressed closer to the door. The mention of Elizabeth's name had torn through him like a bayonet.

True, he had never known exactly what Cutler Beckett had told his sister, but James had been told very little of her. Apparently the lack of knowledge was mutual. Reason told him to calm down, that Evelyn Beckett had every right to want to know about him and his past, but reason no longer ruled James Norrington. All that he saw was an unbearably childish woman who was long past the age where such indiscretions were forgiven. His heart raged. How dare this woman, this inferior creature, presume to say such things about Elizabeth. About _his_ Elizabeth!

He walked into the room quietly, much to the horror of the young servant girl.

"No wonder the man is insufferable."

"Indeed," he replied, "no wonder."

He had to at least give Evelyn Beckett some credit; she had the decency to look mortified.

"Leave," he bit out, his command obeyed by the maid instantly.

Evelyn swallowed hard, her heart beating in her throat. Norrington had removed his jacket and cravat, and a few strands of his hair fell in front of his face.

James watched her with a sharp eye, struck by the fact that she looked even younger now than she had before. Her long dark hair fell loose upon her slim shoulders, covered by a white lace nightgown that only highlighted how pale her skin was. That he should be seeing her in a nightgown was completely uncalled for, but at the moment he didn't particularly care. In fact, if she felt uncomfortable, all the better. The last thing that he needed was a wife who would become bothersome. Sailors had long ago told him of the benefit of having a wife who feared you.

"Miss Beckett—"

"Lady Becket," she corrected.

James's eyes widened at the force in her voice.

"Lady Beckett," he corrected. "Do you find it common curtsey to gossip about your host while in his home, or is the honor mine and mine alone?"

Evelyn's face turned a bright shade of Scarlet. "Forgive me," she murmured. She looked to her feet, the way she had as a child when an adult scolded her, for that was exactly what this felt like. She had been caught acting unseemly by a person who obviously thought himself so much better, so much more capable of acting correctly—

Her head snapped up.

"But you must admit—"

"What must I admit?" His voice held righteous indignation and his eyes were bright, fixed squarely on her face. It was the first time the she noticed how sharp his jaw line was, and the slight dark growth left by the previous day. His entire body was sharp; his posture impeccable, his stance unforgiving; unwavering—

She wanted to be strong; wanted to yell and scream that she had every right to know who he was and who he had been. Evelyn wanted to rage against the unfairness of it all, that she would have married a man she loved had she been given the option or the opportunity, that Elizabeth Swann wasn't the only woman on God's Earth who deserved such happiness, and that the least he could so was not make her feel so insignificant with only a single scorching look from his beautiful eyes…

Beautiful eyes? God in Heaven, had she just thought that?

Evelyn took in a steadying breath, the air catching in her throat as she tried to calm herself beneath his gaze. "You must admit Sir," she said very slowly. "That curiosity on my part is not so strange a thing."

"Curiosity is a vulgar trait that I have no interest in seeing in any wife of mine." He snapped, raking long fingers through his hair, cocking his head to the side, as if daring her to answer.

"You are not then the least bit curious about me?"

She cursed her voice for how insipid and childish it sounded.

James's face remained still as stone, and he spoke his words with deliberate emphasis on each one. "You are a means to an end, Lady Beckett. The sooner that you understand that, the better off we both shall be in this marriage."

Evelyn held her breath. _A means to an end. _All her life she had been a means to an end, even by those she had loved and trusted most. Why it should matter that this man, a man who she neither loved nor trusted, thought so was well beyond her comprehension.

She shook her head. "A means to an end," she said quietly, almost to herself. Evelyn looked up, her grey eyes dancing with a strange mix of mischief and anger. "A means to an end." She closed her eyes and whispered. "A means to an end." Opening them, she drunk in the sight of her fiancé standing before her, proud and angry. Evelyn wanted to laugh; Evelyn wanted to cry. "Tell me, Captain, were you always such a bastard or do I have Elizabeth Swann to thank for this?"

James saw red. Worse, he saw black. Black rage filled his heart, his lungs, and every inch of his body. He stalked toward his future wife in a few large strides, backing her up until she was flush against the wall, her body only inches from his own. Evelyn told herself to stand firm, to not be afraid of him as she had been of her father and brother. Fear turned to chains.

But oh, how she was shaking.

Much like James was, though his shaking came from another emotion entirely. "You are unfathomable," he hissed through clenched teeth. "A lady in name only who speaks of things that she does not know, nor has any right to know." The quiver in his voice gave up just how much her words had scarred him. He looked her up and down in disgust. "You will _never_ be Elizabeth Swann."

For some reason, Evelyn felt that remark like a knife to the heart. Elizabeth Swann; brave, beautiful, beloved Elizabeth Swann. She had heard enough gossip to last a lifetime.

"So break our engagement." Her chin jutted out defiantly, her eyes staring directly into his own. "Break the engagement" she dared, "and send me on my merry way back to London."

James choked on silence.

"Now I see," Evelyn said, confidence filling her voice, albeit slowly. "_Now_ I see." She took a step forward; James took a step back. "How very interesting." A step forward; a step back. "Though it's not the most flattering of descriptions, and we clearly dislike one another as it is, I don't see any issue in telling you, Captain Norrington, that my brother has been eager to marry me off for quite some time." Sadness; sadness and regret filled her. "What hold does he have on you? What could you have possibly done to earn yourself a woman like me?"

Another step forward; another step back. Forward, back. Forward, back.

_A woman like me?_ A thousand thoughts swirled like a hurricane in James's head. When Cutler Beckett had informed him that part of the pardon would involve James marrying his sister, he had assumed that the girl would be either of scandalous reputation or an ogress. Evelyn Beckett, though sharp of tongue if tonight was any indication, seemed to truly be a girl of a noble family, and in terms of looks? Well she was actually…

Not completely distasteful.

"You're a chained man, James Norrington."

His nostrils flared at her statement, and his mind reeled. Evelyn Beckett: one minute cowering, one minute attacking.

A military man at heart, James knew now more than ever was the time to make his retreat, before he said something that he shouldn't—before he said _more_ that he shouldn't. The last thing that he needed to do was rage about how she would never understand, how you didn't know about chains until you had felt the heart of Davy Jones beating next to your own—

No, no that wouldn't do at all.

He reached behind him and, relieved, found the knob and quickly opened the door to make his escape.

_A woman like me?_

What the devil had she meant by that?

"Lady Beckett," he barked. "Why have you never been married?"

Evelyn's eyebrows rose. "Ah," she remarked. "Curiosity. Such a vulgar thing, isn't it?"

And slammed the door in his face.


	4. The Shadow in Your Nightmare

_**I'm the shadow behind you  
that you can't see  
**but you know it's there  
The day is rising  
and I'm fading away  
Daytime has made you free  
but only for today  
Dusk is falling  
and once again  
I'm in your head  
**I'm your nightmare**,  
fantasy and insanity  
Only thing you see…  
So walk a little closer  
and give your life to me..._

_Norther, "Midnight Walker"_

* * *

**Chapter 4**

James was having that nightmare again.

The same one that he always had, or had been having, ever since the day that he had relinquished Elizabeth to Will Turner.

Only this time, it was different.

"_James, James is that you?"_

_He could tell that something was wrong by the way she looked at him. Elizabeth's mouth hung open and her eyes were wide. "James!" She cried once more, running towards him, her white dressing billowing out behind her. _

_She fell into his arms, a fragile work of art, and James caught her with strong, confident arms. He looked into her blessed face, confused and bothered by her distress. _

"_James," she cried pitifully, her fingers in a death grip against his collar. _

_He was wearing his Commodore's uniform. _

"_Oh, James." He watched as she back away from him slowly, tears beginning to well in her eyes. _

"_Elizabeth." The loss of her warmth in his arms felt as if a part of him had been torn away. "Elizabeth what—". But James's throat went dry. Elizabeth's white dress was now stained red, covered in blood. "Oh God Elizabeth—"_

_James went still. Something was warm on his chest, something sticky. Something like…_

_Blood. His blood. Elizabeth's dress was covered in his blood. He looked down. The entire front of his uniform was soaked through. With a cry of surprise, he tore his vest and shirt straight down the middle, only to find a bullet hole clean through the left side of his chest, gushing blood. _

_Strange, though. He didn't feel any pain. _

"_How do I make it stop?" Elizabeth's voice was barely a whisper. _

"_I—." He paused, looking up at her. "I don't think you can." More blood. Blood everywhere. _

_They were in a ballroom, the ballroom at the governor's mansion. Somewhere in the background, a string quartet was playing a soft melody. _

"_Elizabeth," James said softly. "Will you dance with me?" _

_The tears were still in her eyes, but she nodded, coming into his arms easily. They danced beautifully together, two aristocrats who had been raised in society all of their lives, trained in the social skills that would have made their marriage such an incredibly opportune match. _

_With every step they took, James bled. Elizabeth's dress grew redder. _

"_I wish I could make the blood stop." Elizabeth whispered in his ear. _

"_You can," came a voice from behind, and all of a sudden Elizabeth froze in James's arms. Both looked down; someone had thrust a blade straight through Elizabeth's back and clean through her stomach. _

_With a gasp she fell to her knees and James with her, cradling her bleeding body in his arms. _

_As Elizabeth's blood spilled, James's began to disappear. _

"_Elizabeth, no!" He cried, but the wedding dress that she wore only took on more blood, this time her own. _

_Above them both, Evelyn Beckett stood, a bloody saber in her right hand. _

James sat bolt upright in bed, his hair plastered to his face and neck with sweat.

He looked down at his chest, as he always did after that dream, his hands grabbing frantically at the slick skin, just to check that his heart was still beating, whole and where it should be. He took a deep breath, and then another, and another still, until he could hear the thunder of his own heartbeat ringing in his ears.

The dream had never ended like _that_ before.

Usually he and Elizabeth just danced as he bled, and the dream seemed to go on forever, beautiful and terrible all at the same time.

But this time, Evelyn Beckett had invaded it with a sword.

James was on his feet in an instant, terrified that the image of Beckett holding that sword over Elizabeth would make him ill. With a violent shake he threw open the French doors to his balcony, falling onto the balustrade and taking in gulp after gulp of the sweet night air.

He could hear the insects in the bushes all over the island, could feel the warm breeze as it combed through his sticky, sweat soaked hair. Against the black ocean, a silver moon cast an eerie glow.

"Elizabeth," he whispered to the sea.

But the sea did not answer.

* * *

"My Lady really, you look beautiful."

"I look like a bloody potato."

Evelyn crossed her arms and pouted, her gaze caught in the mirror that held her reflection. On the other side of the bedroom door, the maid that had been assigned to her, Marie, kept begging entry.

"Madame please, I need to dress you for the day."

Evelyn shook her head. "If you think that I'm walking outside once more, then you are sadly mistaken." From behind the door, she heard the maid sigh in frustration. Well what did the girl want form her, honestly? For an entire week Evelyn had been in Port Royale, taking tea with the local women in town, walking along the docks with the other women her age (all of whom were married) and at all times doing her best to avoid James Norrington. The women of Port Royale all knew that she was his fiancée, but they received her more as Lord Cutler Beckett's sister.

No one seemed to want to talk about her fiancé.

Which, for Evelyn, was perfectly fine.

But if she had to go out again, Evelyn feared that she might begin to look like a wild woman. Her skin, which the grey skies of London had kept a perfectly pale shade of crème for twenty four years, was suddenly golden, bronzed in a most uncivilized way by the Caribbean sun. The small hats that were now in fashion could in no way shield the entire face, and Evelyn had always been of the persuasion that parasols looked absolutely ridiculous. They were nothing but glorified umbrellas, and umbrellas looked idiotic when it wasn't raining. Her hair had also been violated by the sun, the dark ebony color having been bleached by the harsh rays. Now in the light, hints of red and cooper would glow against the dark backdrop of curls.

And God almighty would this heat never quit! Paradise? What fool had called this paradise! The Caribbean was much too hot to be paradise. Clearly, they were all in hell. Heat produced sweat and Evelyn had never been partial to sweat. It usually did no one justice.

Beyond the door, she heard some muffled voices. Marie's, and then a man's. She held her breath for a moment, and then breathed a sigh of relief, when she realized that it wasn't Norrington.

Only to have her brother storm into her bedroom.

"Cutler!" She cried, grabbing the dressing gown closed across her body.

Lord Cutler Beckett stood, dressed perfectly in all black from his boots to his hat, a slight smile at the edge of his lips. Evelyn stood stock still, taking in the man before her. She had not seen him in more than a year, when he had left for the Caribbean at the behest of the East India Trading Company. He looked the same as he always had; handsome in his own way, brilliant, cunning—but now there was something else in his deep blue eyes, something much more terrifying.

Power.

She tried to take a breath, but Evelyn found that her chest was paralyzed, her body frozen, every nerve ending waiting for what her brother would say and do, this man who had had complete control over her every day since their father had died.

Lord Beckett shut the bedroom door and locked it.

"Is Norrington in the house?" He asked suddenly.

Evelyn shook her head, no.

"Where is he?"

"The docks. He has an office." The short staccato of her sentences betrayed her frazzled nerves. Cutler smiled at her distress. Good, he thought. Women who were too sure of themselves has no practical purpose, as far as he was concerned.

He flashed a tooth filled grin, taking Evelyn's hand and raising it to his lips. "How is my darling baby sister?"

"I thought you were supposed to be at sea?"

He shook his head in mock disappointment. "Is that anyway to greet your brother?"

Evelyn nodded an apology. "Yes, I mean no, forgive me. I'm very fine Cutler, thank you."

He watched as she walked toward a settee by the window, arranging herself delicately upon it, trying to make herself look as decent as possible.

"Very fine, is it? You don't sound fine, my dearest."

"I assure you Cutler, I'm quite well."

"I trust that your voyage from London was also well?"

"Yes, quite."

"And your fiancé, is he well?"

His question was met with silence.

"Ah yes, so I figured," Cutler whispered, sitting down beside her.

Evelyn turned toward him, her eyes wide. "You knew? You knew that he was such a man?" She gave a huff of disgust. "You have betrothed me to a ghost, a man who is haunted by his past and so haunts others. It's as if he survives on people hating him."

"He hates himself Evie," Cutler sighed, unconcerned. "Don't take it personally."

"How comforting."

"Any man in his position would. It wasn't so long ago that James Norrington was barely a notch above a pirate."

Evelyn froze, shock, anger, and indignation burning in her eyes. "This is the man you would marry me to? You tell me this _now_, a week before my wedding?" The truth of her brother's words outweighed any fear that she might have had. "How dare you.! To what end, Cutler? To what profit of your own have you contracted this marriage to such a man? This is low, brother, even for you."

"Check yourself Evelyn, or do I have to remind you that not so long ago you were barely a notch above a whore."

Oh, he said those words so delicately, as if he were complimenting her on her beauty. Cutler's words were brutal, a knife to her gut, just as their father's had been. All that Evelyn could do was clamp her lips shut, allowing the thousand things that she wanted to say die upon her tongue. When she had first arrived in Port Royale, the mention of her brother's absence had been a huge weight off her shoulders. Cutler was—a hard man—to be in the presence of. It was why she had at first held out a glimmer of hope for her engagement to Norrington. Evelyn had seen the possibility of freedom…

A possibility that James Norrington had instantly dashed to pieces with his harsh cruelty and even harsher ambivalence.

Oh God in Heaven, why was she crying?

She felt her brother's arm creep around her shoulder, and Evelyn did what she always did: allowed him to comfort her, even when she suspected the comfort to be insincere. Beggars could not be choosers.

"There, my dearest, fear not. Shhh, Evie. I wouldn't let you marry a pirate." There was laughter in Cutler's eyes, and Evelyn could not be sure whether it was for her benefit or his own. "In fact," he continued, "I'm going to see to it that you are an admiral's wife."

"Admiral's wife?" Evelyn sniffled. "But—"

"Admiral James Norrington."

Evelyn sat straight up, breaking her brother's hold, accusation burning in her eyes.

"Why are you back in Port Royale?"

Cutler laughed, standing and going over to the windows that looked out onto the bay. "My expedition was only a short one Evelyn, to search for certain—fugitives, of the law that might present a problem for my future endeavors. Fortunately, at the current time, I can't see anyway that any of them are alive."

"You mean Elizabeth Swann."

Cutler didn't answer that.

"I came back Evelyn, because I have a greater journey to go on. There's a ship that I need to find." He stared out at the water, images of The Flying Dutchman clouding his mind like a drug. Once he had Davy Jones, he would have…

…_everything_.

"And I need Norrington."

"I thought that Norrington was already in your debt. After all," she murmured under her breath, "he's marrying me."

"I need Norrington's skills as a commander. On those I can rely. It's the issue of the Swann girl that may present a problem."

Christ, if Evelyn heard the name Elizabeth Swann one more time…

"Cutler," she said exhausted, "Just tell me what you want."

"You see Evie," he cried with a smile. "This is why I love you. You know exactly when and why you are useful." He rounded on her. "I want his every move. I will make Norrington an admiral, and you will make sure that he doesn't do anything stupid or noble or what-have-you with his power."

"Like searching for Swann," she said miserably. Miserably? Why was she miserable over that?

Cutler nodded. "I'm going to need him with me. I am taking an entire fleet towards the Orient."

"Why Cutler?"

He smirked. "As I said my dear, there's a ship that I need to find, I have every intention of believing that I will find it there. I have something of the Captain's that he will certainly wish for me to keep in good condition."

"Stop speaking in riddles. It's giving me a headache"

"You keep to Norrington. His every move, you report to me. His every word, every bloody look in his eye, I want to know about." He paused, seeing the distress on his sister's face. "Your loyalty—"

"Is yours Cutler," she whispered quietly.

It had never been anybody else's.

Admiral Norrington. Bloody hell, Cutler was going to make James Norrington an admiral; she, Evelyn Beckett, once the subject of London society's most scandalous gossip, was going to be an admiral's wife. Cutler just wanted to know what Norrington was up to. And what was the harm in that? After all, the Swann girl _was_ probably dead, and Norrington would probably be too busy with ships and men and all other form of boring military regalia…

Her loyalty was to her brother. Cutler was all she had left in the world, even if he wasn't exactly…ideal. Evelyn Beckett had tasted loneliness and had decided long ago that even the devil was a better companion than the crushing pain of solitude.

Right?

The minute he left the room, Evelyn ran out onto the balcony, doubling over as she retched, choking on the acrid taste of fear and uncertainty.


	5. Til' Kingdom Come

_Steal my heart and hold my tongue.  
I feel my time, my time has come.  
Let me in, unlock the door.  
I've never felt this way before. _

The wheels just keep on turning,  
The drummer begins to drum,  
I don't know which way I'm going,  
I don't know which way I've come.

Hold my hand inside your hands,  
I need someone who understands.  
I need someone, someone who hears,  
For you, I've waited all these years.

"_Til' Kingdom Come" -Coldplay_

_

* * *

_

Chapter 4

She watched him from her balcony, watched him as he stood on the beach and just stared out at the see. His hair had blown free of its ribbon in the heavy winds that had kicked up, and by now his black boots were probably dusted with the salt of the waves. Evelyn could not see his face, could not see how the confusion mixed itself with reluctant joy as well as a deep, languishing pain.

Norrington had been standing there for over an hour.

She assumed that Cutler had gone to see him; Evelyn had not seen her brother since his impromptu visit that morning. Had he told him of the admiralty?

A heavy breeze blew across the balcony, sweeping Evelyn's long skirts about her body. The dress she wore was a pale lavender, so pale that it was closer to grey, covered in embroidered soft crème tulle. It was one of several gowns that she had ordered before leaving London, and if she were truly honest with herself, a part of her, just the smallest most hidden part, had hoped that her fiancé might find her beautiful.

Not that it mattered, though.

The man who would be her husband in one weeks time didn't seem to care whether she were breathing or not, let alone how she looked in satin and tulle.

And Evelyn didn't care. No, she didn't, not at all. She did not care, she could not care and she would not care. She did not care what James Norrington thought of her, or why he thought what he thought, or anything along those lines at all. Marriages were not contracted for love, they were contracted for convience and for profit.

Marriages made for love were a joke.

Evelyn had learned that the hard way; apparently, so had Norrington.

She smiled in spite of herself. At least she and he husband would have _some_ common ground.

Down on the beach, Evelyn saw Norrington sit down in the sand, cradling his head in his hands.

No! This was absolute insanity! Why would she possibly feel the sudden urge to go down there! To check on him, to speak to him…to _comfort_ him? Disgust at herself left a foul taste in Evelyn's mouth. She was a grown woman, smart enough to know when and where she was not wanted. She would rather die than grovel for James Norrington's acceptance.

But perhaps…perhaps she should go down there. Perhaps she should at least try to show some sort of amiability before they were officially married. After all, she had been ignoring him for the better part of a week…

No! She had been ignoring him for a reason! He was a cold and callous man, one who was lucky to at least be receiving civility from her…

But maybe the marriage wouldn't be completely miserable if she made an attempt at peace…

"Bloody hell!" Evelyn hissed, clamping a small hand against her forehead. This was ridiculous! Her own mind was splitting in two, and over what! James bloody Norrington? Because he looked as if he might be distressed! Perhaps the heat really had gone to her, because she was certainly losing her mind.

"You are not going down there, Evelyn Beckett," she muttered angrily to herself. "You are not."

* * *

He was still sitting in the sand when she reached him on the beach.

James had been alerted to her presence at first by the strange noise of skirts brushing against sand. He had been surprised to see her—shocked, really—Evelyn Beckett had been avoiding his presence since her arrival.

Which, of course, could not have relieved James more.

But now, for some reason, she was here, and could not have possibly looked more foreign standing upon the warm Caribbean beach. Everything about her screamed restrained civility, from the delicate beauty of the dress that she wore, to the gentle arch of her eyebrows. He had wanted restrained civility once, only to fall in love with a girl who was a hell cat. Elizabeth—fiery, uncontrollable, beautiful, wild Elizabeth. Now, civility had never looked so dull.

Yes, dull, that was what Evelyn Beckett looked right now—or something like it…he supposed.

Even if her eyes were the color of the storming ocean.

"What are you doing here?"

Evelyn was taken aback by his voice. First, because she hadn't thought that he had noticed her, and secondly because the question had been soft, barely more than a murmur. For half a moment, Evelyn debated the merits of pretending to have gotten lost and returning to the house. Yes, it would seem a plausible enough excuse—

No, no, no.

"Captain Norrington, are you all right?" She forced herself to say, cringing at the way her voice sounded so hopelessly idiotic.

"Your brother didn't find the Pearl."

Ah, so Cutler _had_ been to see him.

"You are worried for Miss Swann." Evelyn almost bit her tongue out. What on God's Earth had possessed her to say such a thing!

Norrington looked up at her, his green eyes filled with so much checked emotion that Evelyn almost felt her knees buckle in pity. He did not answer.

"Captain Norrington," she forced herself to continue, swallowing hard, "You have my deepest sympathies. And I must apologize if anything that you heard me say about Miss Swann came across as crass. My behavior was unacceptable."

"You were curious."

"I was jealous."

_Jesus Christ Evelyn!_

He turned to her suddenly, his eyes riveted upon her form.

"Not of you loving her, of course," she quickly amended. "That would be ridiculous, naturally." She laughed a little, but then coughed it away when she was met with only silence. "It was your concern for her, Captain. For her well being. I have rarely been so considered by men."

Evelyn was surprised at how truthful that statement actually was. She was even more surprised then, with what James answered.

"When you are my wife, you will be mine to protect, and I will protect you always."

The statement shocked her to her very core, and never in her life had Evelyn wanted to believe something so much. Never had she wished or prayed to God so strongly in just one single instant. Someone to protect her. All of her life she had been subject to the "protection" of men, and it had always proved a forced and false sort of protection. Would James Norrington's protection become the same sort of emptiness? Or would he, as no other had, truly _protect_ her? His words sounded so true, she did not want to doubt them. It was just that he sounded as if he were protecting an heirloom rather than a woman.

_Don't be a fool Evelyn_. Her subconscious, like an angry ghost, roared in her ears. She had heard the promises of men before and seen exactly what those promises wrought.

There was no such thing as protection. Not truly.

"Captain Norrington," she said quietly. "Perhaps you should come in now; it looks as if there is a storm coming."

"Have you ever lost someone close to you, Lady Beckett?" His question was as sudden as it was unexpected.

"Yes, Sir." She said.

And said no more.

"I'm going to be an admiral," James mused, the words sounding awestruck on his lips. "All my life—all my life, this is what I have lived and bled for, and now it comes like this." He shook his head at the absurdity of it all.

At those words, Evelyn sat down beside him, slowly, as if he were a frightened animal, arranging her skirts tastefully about her.

"You were a Commodore," she stated plainly.

James nodded. "Yes," and he smiled tragically. "And for one, brief instant of my life, I had everything that my heart had ever desired. "I was an officer of the royal navy, I had captured one of the greatest pirate threats in the Caribbean, and I—"

He never finished the sentence, but a black part of Evelyn knew that he had been about to say "and I was engaged to the woman I loved."

"And then what?" She asked without looking at him.

"I was obsessed with catching Sparrow. I lost my ship and my crew…" His voice faded, lashed with the painful memories of a time in his life that was not so very long ago. When Evelyn took his hand in her own, he jumped, but settled instantly, strangely intrigued by the sensation of her warmth. No, she was not his Elizabeth, but for the moment, James was content to allow the comfort of her soft hand to sooth the maelstrom of thoughts crashing together in his mind.

"So what comes next?" Evelyn asked quietly, terrified to break the strange trance that had seemed to come over them both, the quiet peace that was all too fragile.

Again, James said nothing, and Evelyn just let it be, knowing that there was nothing really that she could say to him. A million questions popped into her mind regarding Swann, the blacksmith—questions that she didn't not have the courage to ask.

They stayed like that for quite some time, hands entwined, two strangers who had no idea what to say to the other or what the other needed or wanted to here.

And for the moment, that was fine.


	6. First You Have to Fall Apart

_And she wonders where these dreams go  
cause the world got in her way  
What's the point ever trying  
Nothings changing anyway _

They press their lips against you  
**And you love the lies they say**  
And I tried so hard to reach you  
But you're falling anyway

And you know I see right through you  
When the world gets in your way  
What's the point in all the screaming  
You're not listening anyway

_The Goo Goo Dolls, Acoustic #3_

* * *

**Chapter 6**

A strange state of existence fell upon the residents of the Norrington household.

Or at least its two main residents.

With only three days until she became Mrs. James Norrington, Evelyn walked around like a ghost, half existing, half fading away into the fog of her own thoughts. Cutler called on her frequently, albeit briefly. As soon as she told him that there was nothing to report on James's behavior he was on his way once more.

As for James…

She would catch him staring at her, strange looks from those piercing eyes of his that made her feel as if he were stripping away the flesh from her bones. They had said precious little to each other since that day on the beach, and the silence was beginning to grow oppressive. Since news of his commission, James had been acting—more civil? Perhaps "less angry" was the better way to describe it.

But there was also a melancholy to him. And why wouldn't there be? All signs pointed to Elizabeth Swann being dead.

Evelyn walked along the corridors, the ends of her beaded pale green gown trailing against the cool hardwood floors. Marie had pinned her hair up earlier, and now stray curls fell in wisps down the back of her neck.

Three days.

Evelyn paused before a guilt mirror hanging in the hallway beside James's study.

"Good evening," she said to her reflection. "I'm Lady Evelyn Beckett." She curtseyed with all the grace and beauty of a proper London debutant. The night before the wedding, she and James would be attending an honorary dinner at the admiralty. There he would officially receive his new rank, and a ball would be given afterward. "It's my pleasure," she said into the mirror. "Why yes, I am Lady Evelyn Beckett, of the London Becketts. You know my brother of course" She ran her fingers gingerly up her neck, sliding them into the warm mass of her dark hair. "Good day," she said quietly. "I am—I am—I am Mrs. James Norrington. I am Mrs. Evelyn Norrington." She smiled in spite of the thousand butterflies that were flitting about in her stomach. "Hello. I'm Evie Norrington."

A great cry and a loud banging noise ripped Evelyn's attention from her own world and back into reality.

Her head snapped in the direction of the entrance to the servant's wing.

"You absolute filth! God take you Marie!" A male voice bellowed, the timbre ricocheting off the white wood walls.

With a gasp, Evelyn picked up the edge of her skirt and began to run in the direction of the shouting, her silk slippers tapping lightly against the floor, her small feet and short legs moving much like a fairy's.

"I'll have none of that in my household do you hear me? I'll not suffer whores!" The screaming voice belonged to Thomas Morris, the head of the household and in charge of all of the servants. Sitting on the floor in front of him was Marie, the young servant girl who had been attending Evelyn. The girls' face was bright red and covered in tears and mucus. Morris kept shoving a bag of something in her face.

"These are yours, aren't they?" He cried. "_Aren't_ _they_?" He pressed the bag closer. Marie seemed to nod and shake her head at the same time. "I'd be within my right mind to throw you into the streets where you belong, you dirty slut. Spreading your legs for every piece of shit that wonders into this port"

Fresh sobs broke from Marie anew. "No, please."

Outraged silence from Evelyn immediately turned into enraged shrieking. "What is going on here?"

Evelyn's voice caught both Marie and Morris's attention. "Pardon my Lady," he said coolly, as if he were simply bidding her good afternoon. "Just some issues with the staff that I was taking care of. You needn't concern yourself."

_You needn't concern yourself_. Evelyn knew that tone of voice well. It was code for "don't get involved where you don't have the sense to be useful…_woman_."

"Indeed?" She replied, her voice taking on a haughty, noble air. "Well I think I shall concern myself, after all, this is soon to be _my_ staff." She looked her nose down at Morris, and never had she felt so good about something that she would normally have thought so wrong. "What seems to be the matter?"

Morris hesitated, but Evelyn Beckett's eyes were on fire, bright and alert and going absolutely nowhere. "I found a batch of Queen Anne's Lace among her private things." He finally admitted. "It's used for…well, primarily women will, Madame, actually—"

"I know very well what is does." Evelyn snapped. Queen Anne's lace. A flower whose seed could be crushed and mixed easily with any drink to prevent one of the more difficult obstacles met by women who were kept as mistresses…

…namely pregnancy.

Evelyn turned to the girl, still crouched upon the floor. "Tell me Marie, you aren't operating a brothel out of the Captain's home are you?" Evelyn's face was stern, but her voice was light and easy.

"God no my Lady, please," the young girl begged. "My fiancé and I, we can't get married until he has enough money and it will be so very long and I, I know we shouldn't but—"

"How old are you Marie?"

"Nineteen my Lady."

"And how long have you known your fiancé?"

"Forever it seems, Madame. I've loved him since I was a child. Please, you mustn't let the Captain throw me out."

Evelyn crossed her arms. "Well now, Mr. Morris, those certainly don't sound like the sentiments of a common whore."

"My Lady please—"

"And how was it that you came by these seeds ayway?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. "If they were with the girl's personal things, as you claim?"

He blushed red with embarrassment and indignation.

"In the future you will do well to remember that the ladies of this household are exactly that, ladies, and you will treat them accordingly. Your behavior is appalling. Any private grievance that you might have goes either to my ears or the Captain's and no one elses, and let me clarify, while we are on the topic. The personal business of my maids is none of yours. Are we clear?"

Morris said nothing.

"Are we clear Mr. Morris? Or shall I have Captain Norrington explain it to you? And you would do well to remember that he is soon to be Admiral Norrington."

"Yes," Morris grumbled.

"Yes, what?" Evelyn asked.

"Yes, Lady Beckett."

She flashed him a dazzling smile, and sent Morris on his way. After a series of profuse thank yous and more tears, Marie left as well, pledging herself to Evelyn always.

Alone in the hall, Evelyn smiled, conscious of the adrenaline that was still coursing through her blood. She would never admit that speaking to men terrified her, but it did, and always had. Her attitude had developed as a defense mechanism, a way of surviving, when surviving had been an actual issue.

But that had been back when she was still little more than a child, only sixteen and caught up with—

Evelyn shook the memory from her head. There was no sense in rehashing her days in George's Court. They were long gone now.

A few more deep breaths and she was steady on her feet once more, her heart rate slowing to normal. Satisfied, she turned around and was set to pick up exploring the house right where she had left off…

Only to smack right into the wall of James Norrington's chest.

* * *

"James!" She cried out, startled by his appearance, seemingly from thin air. He raised an eyebrow at her, and for a moment, Evelyn just stared back at him, confused as to why he looked so—

Oh God in Heaven. Had she just called him James? When in God's name had she started to think of him as _James_!

Luckily, he ignored her faux pas, clearing his throat and looking down at her, his arms crossed against his chest. "Is it the latest rage in London to keep whores for servants?"

Had Evelyn's jaw fallen farther it would have broken. Not that she was surprised, no of course not. James Norrington—_damn it—_Captain Norrington was just the sort of man from whom she would expect such coldness. "Check your language, Captain." She muttered. Evelyn looked up at him. "You heard the entire conversation?"

"You barely know that girl."

"I barely know most people of my acquaintance. Very few are worth more than 'barely knowing.'"

"You intervened on her behalf. Now you've probably earned Morris's anger and when Morris gets angry, he usually takes the staff to his side."

"Well then Sir, I suggest you get a new staff."

James remained silent, his eyes concentrated upon the figure of Evelyn Beckett before him. He had been in his chambers dressing when he had heard yelling, and fearful that something might truly be wrong, he had dashed from the room without a second thought. When he happened upon Evelyn yelling at Morris, he had hidden away, curious to see how she would conduct herself in a situation that was all too common in household's with a staff such as his.

She had surprised him.

"A new staff?' He questioned. "Is that so Lady Beckett?"

"Don't be fresh," she scolded, and James nearly had to stop himself from grinning. The last woman to say such a thing to him had been his mother.

"If you think that a girl such as Marie should be turned out just because she is—" Evelyn's face turned a bright shade of pink as she tried to search for the correct words. "Just because she is—_intimate_—with her fiancé is not only ridiculous, it's naïve. More than likely Morris was just upset that the poor girl actually _wasn't_ a whore. Had she been of loose virtue, I doubt Morris would have minded."

Evelyn's cheeks were still pink, and for the moment, James was caught in their loveliness—_er, childishness_, his mind corrected.

"So," he asked, taking a step towards her. "You believe that it is acceptable for one to be, how did you put it? _Intimate_, with one's fiancé?"

"Of course," Evelyn exclaimed defensively, arching her neck back as Norrington drew closer. It was the only way to keep eye contact with him. "They are to be married anyway, and who are any of us to condemn such a thing!"

"Indeed," James murmured taking another step closer. Evelyn's blush had spread to her neck, as well as the soft skin of her décolletage. She was becoming more and more defensive, her words more and more flustered…

…James found he rather enjoyed it.

"Look what I have here," he whispered, his lips dangerously close to her ear. "Such a progressive creature, you are."

"No," Evelyn whispered, drunk on the scent of him—clean linen and the sea—filling her nostrils. "No not at all, just practical. Yes…yes practical."

Something began to unravel within James. Something began to fall apart. Something was clawing at him from the inside out. Perhaps it was the way she had defended a young woman simply on the impulse of what was right, the hell with what anybody else in the household thought. Or perhaps it was the way that she was trying to maintain her bravery in his presence (and failing). Or perhaps it was the color of her lips when she was nervous—pale, the way that sand was under a full moon.

Or perhaps it was because she smelt like ginger.

Evelyn looked up at James towering over her, his face only inches from her own, the fingers of his right hand playing with the curls that brushed against the nape of her neck.

"Please," Evelyn began. "Don't send Marie away."

His throat went dry as he felt something that felt dangerously like desire rip through him. Something about the way she had said "please."

"For me,' she murmured, "as a wedding gift."

James felt his heart shatter as a thousand memories shred through him

"_Commodore I beg you please do this," Elizabeth cried, her hair blowing about her beautiful face on deck. "For me, as a wedding gift."_

He was drowning in memories, choking on regret, and lost in the abyss of his own indecision. Elizabeth…Elizabeth and Turner, Elizabeth Turner…

What good was any of this?

James had to say something, anything at all to get Evelyn Beckett out of his sight for the moment. He couldn't think, couldn't even contemplate…

He backed off suddenly, looking her up and down with a sneer. "How does a proper lady know of Queen Anne's lace?"

Evelyn felt her heart turn to ice, and then watched as it fell and hit the ground, shattering into a thousand pieces. In that singular instant she knew hatred, hatred at James Norrington and of all he represented. Hated how in the same moment he had made her forget—and then remember—all that she had once been…

…all that she was.

"Perhaps a little birdie told me," she whispered, venom dripping from her lips. "Or perhaps it was a swan."

James froze, possessed by something far beyond anger. "And now you mock the dead," he whispered quietly, the gentle control of his voice far more terrifying than any scream.

"Well there you have it, James." Evelyn's eyes were hollow. "I'm allowed to mock, for perhaps I'm of the dead as well." She shook her head. "A woman can only be treated like an object for so long until she starts to believe that she is one."

She turned from him and walked away.

"Perhaps one day I really shall wake up a porcelain doll," she called over her shoulder. "And perhaps my manners shall be improved by then."

Something began to unravel within James.

Something began to fall apart.

Something was clawing at him from the inside out.

"Evelyn," he whispered.

But she was gone.


	7. What We Deserve, and What We've Done

_"Darling are you healing  
From all the scars appearing  
Don't it hurt a lot  
Don't know how to stop  
Don't know how it stops  
Now there's no sense in seeing  
The colours of the morning  
Hold the clouds at bay  
Chase them all away  
And I'm frozen still  
Unspoken still  
Heartbroken  
Remembering something I forgot..."_

_"The Saddest Song I've Got," -Annie Lennox _

* * *

Chapter 7

On the night before their wedding, the bride and groom both wore black.

Marie had spent nearly an hour pinning Evelyn's hair into place, but still a few stubborn wisps saw fit to dangle in front of her face and against her neck.

"I think it looks charming," Marie had declared.

Evelyn had only grumbled.

Marie had then spent a full twenty minutes applying the cosmetics sent over from the apothecary. A layer of white, silk based powder came first, followed by an application of the Parisian rouge. A plaster form of the rouge was then applied to Evelyn's lips, and another, darker lead based powder to her eyes.

Marie smiled. "Why look at that my lady, you would make the Queen blush with your beauty.

"I've already caused the Queen to blush enough for one lifetime."

"What was that Lady Beckett?"

"Nothing, Marie," Evelyn amended quickly. "Just talking to myself." She met her own gaze in the mirror. "Of for Heaven's sake, I look positively ridiculous."

"You look beautiful, Lady Beckett, and I'm sure that Captain Norrington will think so as well. Just think, tomorrow night I shall call you Mrs. Norrington."

Marie's smile was so genuine that Evelyn could not help but return it, even if she did not share the sentiment."

"Yes," Evelyn whispered, looking to her reflection once more. "Mrs. Norrington."

Getting into her gown had taken another fifteen minutes, after every ribbon had been tied and every button secured. The corset on the dress was crème colored, dotted and accented with black pearls from the Orient. The golden tulle continued down into the bell shaped skirt, dusting the floor lightly as she walked in the black embroidered silk slippers. Surrounding the skirt and covering her back and arms was the black satin overdress, hugging her form delicately. Against her neck and elbows, more tulle and lace fanned out, and a string of black pearls lay coolly against her throat.

An early wedding gift from Cutler.

Nearly two hours spent on dressing alone…

…and still, Evelyn had made it downstairs before James.

Much to her chagrin, she found herself pacing back and forth on the wooden floor of the foyer, at the base of the large staircase that was _supposed_ to have been her spectacular entrance. James was _supposed_ to have been waiting at the bottom, and at the moment that he saw her descend the stairs, dressed impeccably like the noblewoman that she was, he would have fallen to his knees, astounded by her magnificence and professed that she was positively the most devastatingly beautiful creature that he had ever seen. She in turn would have simply nodded, passing off his declaration as a mere trifle of emotion—

—or, er, something along those lines.

Well…perhaps he wouldn't have fallen to his knees…or any of that, for that matter.

"Good Lord, I hate that man," she hissed angrily. This was positively ridiculous. What woman was ever meant to wait for her escort! She had spent years—_years—_with the ladies of King George's court, practically living their lives to make men wait for them.

"Arrogant, self obsessed, cold hearted, self important—"

"Lady Beckett?"

Evelyn's head snapped up.

He was standing on the top of the staircase.

Admiral James Norrington.

Well, he wouldn't actually become an admiral until the ceremony this evening, but…

He looked as if he were carved from marble.

The uniform was black and white, embellished with golden brocade and buttons. Somehow he looked larger in it, his shoulders broader and his body longer. A sword was strapped to his side, and a white wig sat perfectly upon his head, crowned with a black, feathered tricorn hat. Black lace spilled from his sleeve and his neck, and somehow, even covered in frivolous lace and finery, James Norrington had never looked so dangerous.

Evelyn gasped.

She hadn't been breathing.

* * *

The ballroom at the Admiralty, located just outside of Port Royal, was all gilt and glowing candles when they arrived. Evelyn was escorted in by Cutler, with James following close behind. The ceremony was rather long for Evelyn's tastes, with all number of men in all manner of pompous military dress saying all sorts of speeches and presenting swords and metals and what not. It was near ten o clock by the time the ballroom opened up to dancing and conversation.

"Admiral Alexander."

Cutler nodded to a large man in an impressive looking uniform, much like the one that James was wearing.

"Evelyn, may I present Admiral of the Fleet Jonathan Alexander. Admiral Alexander, may I present my sister, Lady Evelyn Beckett."

Evelyn curtseyed deeply to the man before her. "Good evening, Admiral Alexander."

He took her hand and brought it to his lips delicately. "The pleasure is all mine, my lady. And I look forward to seeing you married tomorrow to our dear James."

"Oh?" Evelyn asked, guardedly.

Alexander nodded. "I couldn't have hoped for better circumstances. No, no certainly couldn't have." He looked down suddenly and then back at Evelyn, his large face filled with emotion—or at least as much emotion as one could expect from an Admiral. "We all missed him…terribly. You're marrying a good man."

Evelyn felt her heart swell with an emotion that felt like gratitude. Gratitude? For what? For this man's feelings towards James?

"Speaking of which, where is the new Admiral Norrington? Alexander's eyes darted around the room, and Evelyn's joined in the search. She had not seen James for almost an entire half an hour at this point.

"Excuse me Admiral Alexander, Cutler," she said quickly, before darting off.

* * *

She found him in an adjacent parlor, dark except for the light of a single candle, alone.

"Are you alright then?" He did not turn. Evelyn's voice seemed to be swallowed by the large blackness of the room. She saw a muscle in James's jaw clench. So he had heard her, then.

"Of course I am, why wouldn't I be?" He snapped, looking to see who had disturbed him.

She took a step back, as if the sting of his tone had actually pushed her. "Forgive me I was just concerned."

He said nothing in reply.

Gathering her wits, Evelyn crossed her hands behind her back and glided towards her fiancée, quietly, gently. "You know," she said, coming to stand beside him, "I think all of those men were beside themselves with seeing you tonight. You must have been quite a Commodore. Quite a leader for them."

"I led innocent men to their deaths," He forced out, his voice rough and throaty. "I don't deserve this."

"They seem honored to serve you again."

"Stop it!" He bellowed.

"No, you stop it!" She cried back with equal force, pressing her hands to her head. "Just, just stop it! I beg you. Don't tell me what you don't deserve." He voice grew thin and pained. "Do you want to know what I think you don't deserve?"

"No."

"Well too bad!"

James's eyes went wide. Evelyn Beckett was actually shouting at him—not that he was surprised, come to think of it.

"What I think you don't deserve is the lot that you drew. Sparrow, the hurricane—Will Turner—"

"Now _this_ I won't listen to!" He declared, turning from her. Evelyn watched in horror as her hands took on a mind of their own, pulling James's turned face back toward her.

"Then listen to this. James. _That_ was what you didn't deserve."

"Why do you say such things?" He demanded, shaking her arms off. "You know nothing of who I was, what I did."

"I know something of tragedy, Admiral." She saw his eyebrows rise. "Oh yes, I know something of it indeed. Of not being to control your own destiny, even when it's what you want most in the world. That's why I refuse to watch this. To watch you drown in your own darkness when you have been given this chance—"

"You're a fool." But he did not sound so sure.

"Am I? I think you're wrong. And I also think that a part of you, some deeply buried, hidden part, might even wish think better of me, to not hate me—Lord knows I've tried to hate you."

He laughed bitterly. "There's no reason that you shouldn't."

"Is there? You're a good man…James."

"Then you don't know what a good man is."

"But I do know what a bad man is. I've known enough of them to last a lifetime."

He was quiet for a moment.

"I saw the Governor tonight."

Evelyn felt her throat tighten. "Governor Swann?"

James nodded dumbly, his own throat tightening with tears that he would never shed, rage that he would never scream. "You don't know what I did." He whispered brokenly. "What I've done. Governor Swann is right—I could have saved her."

"James," she asked, her hand coming to rest upon his back. She could feel his heart racing. "James what are you talking about? What did Governor Swann say to you?"

"He said nothing. He didn't even have to say it—the look in his eyes…"

She had never heard him sound so lost, so desperate.

"James, what did he say to you? Is that why you came in here?"

"A heart, a heart that never stops beating. I took it…but it could have saved her."

"Saved who, James? Elizabeth Swann?" She wrapped her arms around his midsection. "Good God James you are trembling."

"I carried it next to me…it never stopped beating."

"For God's sake James, what's wrong! What are you trying to tell me!"

He took her in his arms then, pulled her close to him, hip lips dangerously close to her own. She could feel his breath upon her cheek.

"You deserve to marry a good man, Evelyn."

The statement was so unexpected, so completely astonishing, that Evelyn found a hated tear at the corner of her eye.

"Oh, James," she said mournfully, looking up into his eyes. "You don't know what I did, what I've done."

"I know what you are."

"No," she shook her head. "No, you don't"

"You are…more, than a man could hope for as a fiancée Evelyn. You are well bred, lovely, amiable...you're a fine woman."

Evelyn didn't know how to react. Well bred, lovely, amiable…she had never imaged those qualities to be so boring. It sounded as if he were describing a prize mare. She could not take this, could not stand this, these moments of tenderness that he could show, these moments of "James," only to have them ripped violently from her by the cold Admiral Norrington. He was so close, so warm and so real. What would it feel like to kiss him? To kiss a man and not have to worry about what it meant beyond the kiss?

She wondered what his lips would feel like. Would they be cold and hard? Or perhaps softer, unexpected and warm. And they would taste like comfort…

James watched her with confused, troubled eyes. She was softer than he would have guessed; her body did not look like it would be soft. And warm…she was so warm, and she—

—She fit him.

No one had ever fit him before.

The idea of that was like a poison to his control, and against all good judgment and sound reason, James found himself imagining how warm she would feel without her dress on, without the corset and the stays and the stockings…how warm she would feel wrapped in nothing but him…

"Evie"

Evelyn and James both jumped back at the sound of Cutler's voice echoing about them. James's arms dropped from her as suddenly as if he had just discovered she had contracted plague, the spell between them as dead as if it had been run through with a sword.

"Excuse me," James said curtly. "I'm sure your brother has things he wishes to discuss with you before tomorrow. Good Evening, Lady Beckett. Lord Beckett."

"Indeed," Cutler said with a smile as James left them, ignorant of the glare in his sister's eye. "Evie, darling are you alright? You breathing seems off?"

"Cutler you frightened me."

"So I did. Forgive me.Enjoying yourself?"

"I suppose that's one way to put it."

He smiled. "And what of our dear James?"

Evelyn's guard instantly went up. She didn't like the way that Cutler said James's name…no, did not like it at all. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean," he said, the volume of his voice dropping.

Evelyn swallowed the bitter lump in her throat. Ah yes, how could she have forgotten. She was to play Delilah to James's Sampson.

"He has said nothing out of the ordinary."

"Nothing about Swann?"

"He believes that Swann is dead."

Cutler's eyes widened in satisfaction. "You're sure of this?"

"Fairly certain." Evelyn's thoughts turned black, remembering the anguish in James's eyes.

"Excellent."

"Indeed." Evelyn's voice was clipped and her lips were tight. She crossed her arms over her bodice in an attempt to be rid of the sudden chill that had come over her.

Cutler drew in closer, leaning against the mantle of the large fireplace, lowering his voice to a whisper. "A lone ship was spotted just outside of port last night. By the morning it was gone with no trace of who it was or where they came from." He began to finger of lock of his sister's hair. "James didn't go anywhere last night?"

Evelyn's ears perked up at the question. James, go anywhere? "No Cutler. I—I would have heard him leave."

Her brother raised an eyebrow. "Enjoying marital rights before the wedding I see."

"I meant because my bedroom is beside the stairs." She hissed, her anger flooding her instantly. God how she hated him sometimes. "You really do think I'm some sort of whore, don't you? Is that the only reason that you are having me marry this man? To keep an eye on him for you? What power does he have that you need him watched?"

Cutler ignored the question.

"You will keep me informed."

For a moment, Evelyn tried to appear as if she might defy him, but crumpled, as she always did. Cutler was Cutler…she had never lived a day in her life without him there. And truth be told, he had saved her from all manner of horror and disownment back in London. Whether she liked it or not, life would not exist without her brother. He would always have that over her." Yes, Cutler."

He turned to go.

"Cutler, wait."

"Yes?"

She chose her words carefully. "Wethersby Swann…what is the nature of his animosity towards Ja—Admiral Norrington?"

Her brother shrugged. "I suppose he blames his daughter's death on the Admiral. The last time Elizabeth Swann was spotted alive, it was with him in Tortuga. Norrington has never said what happened after that."

Something began to churn in the pit of Evelyn's stomach.

"He, he was saying something about a heart. Muttering was more like it, almost like a madman." Evelyn cast her eyes down to the floor, afraid that Cutler would see the raw emotion swirling within them. "He really must have loved her."

Cutler went still. "What did he say exactly?"

"Well, nothing actually, just something about a heart that doesn't stop breathing. …why?"

His eyes were hard, dark and fathomless with thought. "No reason, Evie." He put his arm around her shoulder. "Now let's get you home. There is a wedding to be attending in the morning."


	8. Sunlight and Shadows

**A/N: The next chapter will not in any way be "gratuitous," but I'm going to bring the story up to an "M" rating just to be safe, so look for it in that section. If you have a problem with this, I understand of course, and you will be able to skip that chapter without losing too much information. Thank you!**

** 3 C**

* * *

_I'm not dead just floating  
Underneath the ink of my tattoo  
I've tried to hide my scars from you  
I'm not scared just changing  
Right beyond the cigarette and the devilish smile  
You're my crack of sunlight_

_I'm not dead just yet  
I'm not dead I'm just floating  
Doesn't matter where I'm going  
I'll find you…  
Underneath the cuts and bruises  
Finally gained what no one loses…  
I will find you_

_I'm not dead just floating  
I'm not scared just changing  
You're my crack of sunlight_

_Pink, "I'm not Dead"_

* * *

Evelyn was dreaming.

Happily dreaming, where she was somewhere warm and inviting…and there were tea cakes.

Outside of her bedroom, a blood red Caribbean sun was dawning, but she did not notice, caught within the cool darkness of her shuttered bedroom and the comfort of the dream.

Somewhere, in the regions of Evelyn's mind where she was beginning to wake up, she recalled that she had something to do today, something pressing…

…Oh never mind that, sleep was so much more inviting.

"Madame please!" Marie whispered desperately for the fifth time. "Madame you must rise now if we are to have you ready for the ceremony this morning."

"What!" Evelyn spoke up groggily. "What? No, no tea cakes. So…so much more important."

With a frustrated shake of the head, Marie walked over to the windows and threw back the draperies. Evelyn cried out at the sudden, much hated invasion of sunlight, and turned her face into the pillows. Her sleep fogged mind still had no concept of why Marie was so insistent upon her waking.

"Madame really!"

"No…tea cakes. Sleep. It's so early. Why are we awake Marie?"

"Because your getting married this morning Lady Beckett."

Evelyn's eyes shot open, fully awake.

"Bloody hell."

* * *

The sun had barley risen over Port Royal when the wedding preparations were being executed. The ceremony was scheduled for that morning in the island's large, Anglican church, with a celebration following at Cutler Beckett's private estate. Every man and woman for hire in the city was running about, making sure that the wedding of his Lordship's sister was nothing less than perfection.

From the dense shadows of the tropical forest, a lone figure watched them.

Waiting.

* * *

"Madame, please, you must hold still."

"Marie, if I hold still any longer I'm going to lose my mind. Quite literally. I shall go stark raving mad and probably run away and become a pirate myself."

"Yes, Lady Beckett, of course you will. There must be at least a hundred buttons running down the back of this dress. Oh it is exquisite though…"

Evelyn bit her lip to keep herself from swearing as Marie finished buttoning her into the wedding dress. After all, the gown had been made to Evelyn's order. If she didn't like the buttons, she had no one but herself to blame. But they were exquisite though…

* * *

James Norrington finished buttoning his brocade jacket and swallowed.

Hard.

She was only a corridor away from him.

She.

Her.

Evelyn.

Evelyn Beckett.

Evelyn Norrington?

A cold sweat broke out all over him, and suddenly James felt the smothering weight of his dress uniform begin to overtake him. With a grunt of discomfort he shrugged the greatcoat off his shoulders and pulled at his cravat, desperate for the fresh air to touch his skin.

He wished that his father were alive. Desperately. No, no scratch that. James's thoughts slid once more into darkness. He was glad that his father was dead. Edward Norrington should not have to see what his son had become, Admiral or no…

…James was still the man who was marrying a woman at the command of Cutler Beckett. James was still the man who had handed Cutler Beckett all the power that the seas could offer.

Somewhere, the heart was still beating.

* * *

"A creature is going to fly into my head."

Marie made a face, but did not even bother answering as she wove another small blue flower into Evelyn's hair.

"Marie, are you listening to me?"

"Do you think another flower would balance it better?"

"Marie!"

"Of course Madame!" Marie quickly answered, deciding that Evelyn's hair had enough flowers in it. Stepping back to observe her work, the young servant could not help but grin ear to ear.

"What?" Evelyn asked nervously, standing up. Marie watched as the dress fanned out all around her, the blue silk falling gracefully to the floor, creating the most perfectly elegant lines. As far as embellishments the gown was rather plain. It was the magnificent structure that caught the eye, the way that it clung and fell perfectly around Evelyn's body that was brilliant…and the buttons. All down Evelyn's back, one hundred black mother of pearl buttons created a graceful arch of design from the neck to the train. Her hair was all pinned up, the black curls twisting into one another, with small blue flowers and several black pearl clips woven in to them.

Marie's smile grew.

Evelyn's face dropped. What in the whole of hell was Marie laughing about. She was hot, sweating, and ready to collapse under the weight of her hair. None of that was even remotely humorous! How could any of this be happening? She was Evelyn Beckett, _the_ Evelyn Beckett.

Surely God had never intended for Evelyn Beckett to be married to an honorable man? Or maybe he had? Perhaps God was having a great big laugh, perhaps every one was having a great big laugh and they could all just laugh and laugh and laugh together.

"Marie what is so God damned funny?"

Marie laughed out loud.

"Of for Christ's sake!"

Evelyn no longer cared about checking her tongue. It was her wedding day. She should be aloud to swear.

"Oh Madame, forgive me. It's just that…" She smiled again. "You're beautiful."

* * *

The Church was beginning to fill with people.

From the brush, the dark figure watched them all filing in. From all the uniformed men present, the shadow reasoned that it must be an officers wedding.

The sun was rising in the sky. The bride would be here soon.

Perhaps this was the shadow's chance to do what had to be done; to find who they had to find. If every one was here, distracted, then _he_ could be located, spoken to; reasoned with.

Yes, but where—

The shadow's eyes widened when the groom came into view.

It was James Norrington.

* * *

James had expected to feel many things today: Apprehension, annoyance, regret, anger…every one of those lovely emotions had made his list of wedding day possibilities…

…but not this.

Not absolute astonishment. Not a confusion so deep that it was painful.

He hadn't felt it when he had walked into the church, surrounded by the society that had once loved him, then shunned him, only to love him once more that he was in Cutler Beckett's favor. He hadn't felt it when he had seen the endless rows of his comrades, all dressed in their best uniforms and smiling on his behalf.

James hadn't even the nerve to look at Gillette and Groves, both of whom had survived the hurricane disaster to return to active duty.

But then Evelyn had appeared, and everything else had melted away.

What he felt towards her, he still had no idea, but up until that moment, James had considered her a plain sort of woman, perhaps one that could be considered mildly attractive if dressed properly.

But this woman, this woman walking slowly towards him down the aisle, being escorted by an ever-clad-in-black Cutler Beckett, this woman was stunning. She was radiant; she was glowing.

And it struck James like a fist to the gut that the reason he found her so beautiful was because she was about to become his.

_His._

Cutler handed Evelyn off to James, and the two turned toward the priest before them.

"Thanks be to God, and welcome this day…" he began.

* * *

"I do," Evelyn murmured quietly, aware that the words had sounded foreign to her, as if she had spoken another language altogether. They were heavy words, she could still feel the weight of them on her tongue.

_I do_.

With two words, she had changed her life forever.

With two words, she had left everything behind her. With two words, life began again.

"Kiss your bride." The priest said with a smile.

Evelyn's subconscious raced. _Bloody hell_. She had forgotten about this part. Perhaps she could—but James was already moving, his face moving down towards her, his fingers brushing lightly on the underside of her chin.

And then they were kissing, finally, in front of family, friends, and God. More than anything, Evelyn wanted to melt into the embrace, to simply let herself go and forget all the reasons why she shouldn't allow herself to care for James Norrington.

But she didn't. As the kiss spun on, she grew more afraid. It was an awkward emrace, dry and unsure of itself, a kiss that did not know where to go or what to do. It was a kiss that was by no means tender and certainly in no way romantic.

But by the time James pulled away, his on fire with something that Evelyn suspected was mirrored in her own, she was trembling anyway.

And that was the moment that she knew that she was well and truly doomed.

Awkward, dry, not tender…and all that she wanted was more. All that she wanted to do was melt into him…and have him melt right back into her.

This man, whom she of course had decided long ago was not worth caring about.

"God help me," she whispered.

Oh. A wedding night. The wedding night. There was still that.

When she looked up, James was staring at her.

* * *

The dark figure had been watching the wedding guests for hours, dancing and dining upon the enormous outdoor terrace at Cutler Beckett's estate. The night had been a decadent feast of food, champagne and dancing, but the dark figure had at all times tried to keep their eyes upon the bride and groom…

…and exceedingly difficult challenge, seeing as the pair had been in each other's company for approximately five minutes.

They had had the opportunity to take one dance with each other, but then had been whisked away by various well wishers, and had been detained for the rest of their night, drowning in guests.

Suddenly, the dark figure had a disturbing thought. It was very likely that the Norrington's would be taking a small sojourn in each other's company immediately following the wedding—

—and then it might be too late.

Yes, there was no other way. Norrington would have to be dealt with tonight.


	9. The Way You See Me In The Dark

_I've waited hours for this  
I've made myself so sick  
I wish I'd stayed asleep today_

_I never thought this day would end  
I never thought tonight could ever be  
this close to me_

_Just try to see in the dark  
Just try to make it work  
to feel the fear before you're here  
I make the shapes come much too close  
I pull my eyes out  
Hold my breath  
and wait until I shake..._

_The Cure, "Close to Me"_

**Chapter 9**

"So," Cutler said, as the last of the guests were beginning to leave the wedding celebration. "Ready for our wedding night, are we?"

Evelyn blushed, and silently thanked God that no one was in ear shot of the two of them. It was the first time all evening that she hadn't been bombarded by guests.

"Cutler, please…"

"Not that it should phase you, after all, my dear you—"

"I know," Cutler, she hissed. "I know damn well. Why must you always bring it up?"

"To remind you who you really are, and what I could do to you," he said almost pleasantly.

Evelyn crossed her arms at the false kindness in his voice. "Why?" She asked dejectedly. "Why do you do this to me? Everything that I have ever done has been for you."

"I know, my darling, I know." He waved as another guest passed them in the hall. "But tonight I don't want you getting any ideas about love and romance and whatnot. That didn't turn out so well the last time—"

"I know Cutler!" Evelyn pressed her hand to her mouth, terrified that a guest might have heard her sudden outburst—or worse, James. "I know, Cutler." Memories slashed through her, the blood on the knives not quite dry.

"Norrington is going to be the key to my power." He brushed a lock of her hair back, slightly pleased when his sister flinched. "Any you are my key to Norrington."

"Cutler," she asked, her voice a muted whisper. "What is the nature of your business association with James Norrington?"

She saw her brother's eyes darken. "That's not for you to worry about, Evie."

"Why did you make sure he was created an admiral? Was it just for marrying me?"

"Evie—"

"It wasn't, I know it wasn't. I know you to well. There must have been something else, something bigger. You aren't easily pleased—"

"If I were you, I would be much more worried about all of Port Royal finding out just how much you pleased his majesty and—"

"Enough."

"Then your loyalty?"

"Yours, Cutler." Large grey eyes looked up at him. "It's yours."

He kissed her cheek and walked away, his own smile large and his eyes knowing. Cutler Beckett, her brother—who at every turn threatened to annihilate her new life.

Her life with James.

And that's when it hit Evelyn. For the first time in her life, she was trying to hide her past, because for the first time in her life, she had someone worth hiding it from.

First, she had stood by Cutler because he had been the only person with the power to protect her. Now, she stood by him because he was the only person with the power to destroy her.

And that was how Evelyn Beckett Norrington realized that she was in love.

* * *

They sat beside each other, alone at last, in the small confines of their carriage.

In silence. In unending, unnerving, God forsaken silence.

James felt warm against her, his thigh crushed against her own as the sat beside each other. Even through the layers of her dress, she felt the heat of his skin.

Faster and faster, Evelyn felt her heart begin to run away with itself.

James kept his eyes straight in front of him. If he looked at her, at _his bride_, he would not know what to do. He could feel her beside him, warm and lush and alive and _his_. Oh God, he had someone, finally to call his own. He had thought that it would be a burden, that after Elizabeth Swann, everything and anything would be repulsive to him.

But not this woman. Not her.

And that was the problem, wasn't it?

This woman had been fostered onto him, the marriage forced, the match ill made. He was supposed to hate her, wanted to hate her, and quite frankly, should have been nothing but put out by her general presence. To acknowledge any other feeling was to acknowledge that Cutler Beckett might not have given him such an unfair hand after all—

--and that was completely unacceptable.

He wanted to love Elizabeth Swann. There, that was it. Elizabeth Swann had been the love of his life, and James Norrington had believed once that he would never want another woman.

James Norrington was not a man who admitted to being wrong.

He wanted Elizabeth, and this annoying little Londoner was completely ruining his battle plan.

Not that he loved Evelyn Beckett.

But what about _Evelyn Norrington_?

Evelyn Norrington, as it was, would never know that on the way home from their wedding reception, her husband had held his own hands in a vice like grip.

To stop them from shaking.

* * *

Marie ran her fingers through Evelyn's hair one more time, pleased the way that it fell in riotous curls over the mistresses pale shoulders. The lingerie that had been ordered for her was exceptionally beautiful, a pale crème lace that fell all the way to the floor, scooping deeply at the neck and embellished all around the neck line and bust.

"Madame you look—"

"Enough Marie," Evelyn snapped. "Enough."

Her hands were shaking.

* * *

He was dressed in a night robe, and Evelyn couldn't decide whether James looked ridiculous or devastating.

Was he naked beneath that?

_Oh God…_

She blinked her eyes several times as her subconscious died a few times over. He was staring at her, his eyes cold and fathomless, his body rigid with tension and his lips curled in a sneer.

James had been holding his breath for what felt like a good decade. She looked beautiful. Of course she looked beautiful. Why wouldn't she look beautiful? And she was his, legally, religiously, in every way possible. And he had every right, every expectation to…to…

Do what he didn't want to admit he wanted to do. Badly.

"Well," she said.

"Well what?"

"Well," she gestured with her hands.

So much for romance.

"Lady Beck—Mrs. Nor—" His own formality sounded ridiculous to his ears. "Evelyn. What are you talking about?"

"Well we aren't just going to stand here staring at each other?"

"Oh. Oh."

For several hellish moments they just stood there—staring at each other.

Evelyn sighed, frustrated. "You know—" she stopped, alarmed and angered by the lump growing in her throat. "You know, it's your eyes."

"What?"

"And that tone of voice. I've never seen such cold eyes, nor heard such a cold voice. No," she corrected herself. "No, perhaps cold isn't the correct word." She shook her head. "Quite frankly, I don't know what to call it. It's the look that a good man has when he is trying to be cruel."

"Spare me your philosophy—"

"I don't want to feel this anymore than you do!" She cried angrily. "I've had enough _feeling_ for one lifetime! You idiot man! Standing there looking angry and dejected and put out, hanging me for the sins of another woman!" Evelyn's voice was raised, her anger beyond her control, the flood gates of her emotion completely run through. "I'm done feeling things I don't want to feel! I'm done! Nothing can be worth this! I just want to be numb!" Her voice cracked and she spun away from James, hiding her face in her hands. Evelyn had made it a point long ago to never let men see her cry. Never, never…he would not see her cry. He would not.

One breath, then another, deep, calming breaths. She turned toward him once more.

"What happened to you?" James whispered.

Was that concern in his voice? She longed desperately for that to be the case, and yet the longing only made her angrier. She was already reliant upon Cutler; she didn't need to add another man to that list.

"None of you God damned business."

James went still, and Evelyn was sure that she couldn't even see him breathing. If his voice had been cold, then hers had just been positively frigid. She was angry, and alone, and quite frankly terrified.

Not that she had any reason to be…

The silence that hung between them was a hellish sea of questions they would never be able to ask and answers they would never be able to face.

When James moved toward her, Evelyn stood still.

He said nothing and neither did she, and when his arms came around her small frame she did not protest.

It wasn't that they came together passionately, or violently, but there was a hint of desperation to the way they grabbed on to each other, the way that they kissed each other as if it were a salve that could soothe the others past.

They did not speak, did not have to, did not want to. James's robe was on the ground and Evelyn was against him, the heat of his flesh burning through the thin lace of her gown. She ran her hands through his hair, hair that was now cut sort to accommodate his wigs, and his mouth opened wider against her own. He rucked up her nightgown and pulled her onto his lap on the edge of their bed, his fingers tracing small circles on the insides of her thighs.

She wanted to touch him everywhere, wanted to make him want her so badly that the image of Elizabeth Swann never entered his mind again.

Evelyn was not by nature a jealous woman, never had been, but as she ran her hands up her husbands chest as he impaled her, slowly, achingly slowly, she knew that this was it.

This was the end.

She would kill any woman who ever went near him.

James pulled her against him harder, wanting to be deeper. He took her mouth once more and kissed her as they both shifted against each other, the kiss broken every time one or the other gasped.

He had expected that she perhaps might cry out some misguided declaration of love, or perhaps make some statement of sentiment as they came together, but as his wife climaxed around him, she only cried out one thing.

"Please don't leave me James."

There was something so tragic about her voice, something that called so deeply to him. He rolled her quickly onto her back, thrusting deeply into her until he too found his release.

"James…"

He was still inside of her, his face only inches from her own.

"Evie…"

* * *

Silently, through the night, a black figure moved. Small and lithe, the shadow had an easy time sneaking onto the grounds of James Norrington's home. Not that it wanted to disturb the man's wedding night, but the shadow had no choice.

Curiosity also had something to do with it. Throughout the whole night, the bride's face had not come into the shadow's view, nor had her name come by the shadow's ears.

Nor had the reason for the wedding taking place at Cutler Beckett's estate been made clear.

The shadow seethed with rage.

With a few curses and a piece of metal that had been found on the ground, the shadow popped part of a window out of its frame and crawled through into James Norrington's study.

* * *

James awoke the moment he heard it.

A military man, he did not sleep deeply. No one who had been trained to kill in battle did.

Someone had just forced their way through a door—or a window.

His heart started to race. The servants were all asleep for the night. In their wing of the house they would have heard nothing.

Against his chest, Evelyn's head rested, the welcome weight now causing his stomach to turn.

He no longer had his own life to protect.

Rising gingerly, as to not wake Evelyn, James quickly jumped into a pair of breeches and threw a shirt over his shoulder. Taking his sword, he made his way silently into the hallway, knowing exactly which boards would squeak, and which would remain silent. He had never been nervous before going into battle, never thought twice about living or dying. Perhaps it had been a reckless devotion to duty, but he had always been blind to it. Battle was a job to be done, nothing more.

But now, something, some_one_ was in his home—near his Evelyn.

He could hear him, this intruder, walking about, quietly and yet not quietly, secretively and yet opening, as if they wanted to be found, but not just by anyone.

James crept silently down the large staircase into the dark foyer before, his eyes open wide, as if absorbing the darkness around him to see everything that he could.

The shadow found him first.

"James Norrington."

With a shocked swear, James dropped his sword to the ground.

* * *

It was James's startled exclamation that woke Evelyn from a fitful sleep. Well, that and the absence of his warmth beside her, but that was something she did not really want to address at the moment.

Not did she want to think about how he had felt with his arms holding her, his mouth open on her neck—

How he had felt inside of her.

"Christ," she mumbled, stepping gingerly out of bed. Sentimentality and sex were two things that did not mix.

You did not spend six years in his majesty's court without learning that lesson.

_I'm done feeling things I don't want to feel! I'm done! Nothing can be worth this! I just want to be numb!_

Evelyn reached over toward the night table and lit a candle, placing it in a large, silver candle stick. Had she really heard James cry out? A nervous bead of sweat began to crawl its way down her spine. Perhaps he hadn't. Perhaps she had only dreamt it, brought on by the lack of his presence in bed. Surely if something had happened she would have heard something else by—

Voices.

Two of them.

Downstairs.

Rearranging her nightgown so that it was once more somewhat decent looking, Evelyn quietly made her way into the hallway. One voice was louder—James. One of the voices belonged to James, and Evelyn breathed a silent sigh of relief. But the other?

She moved quietly along the wall, the candlelight creating a small golden glow in front of her. The voices were discussing something in rapid fire speech. She came to the stairs, and saw them in the dark corner of the foyer below.

Evelyn dropped the candle, and the scene about froze itself, forever to burned upon her memory. As the heavy silver hit the floor, rolling away and down the stairs, the two figures looked up towards her. The second, smaller person stepped into the moonlight, her mouth and eyes wide as she took in the vision of James Norrington's bride, the woman he had _actually_ married. James just stood there, dressed in a pair of hastily done up breeches and an open shirt, his eyes wide and his mouth hung open, as if he were waiting for her react.

But Evelyn didn't react.

Neither did Elizabeth Swann.


	10. The Darkest Lie I Ever Told

**A/N:** Hey guys, sorry for the delay, I was out of the country. Also, the line break feature isn't working, so bear with my weird improvising lol

3 C

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**Chapter 10**

"James Norrington" the shadow said quietly in the darkness.

James dropped his sword as if he had been struck to the gut. That voice—it was the voice of a ghost, the voice of someone who could not possibly be here, an apparition, a shadow of a life long dead.

"James," she said once more, stepping closer to him.

In the dim of the moonlight he could see her face, see the sharp angles and planes that had made her beautiful, even if her cheeks were smudged with dirt and her eyes shadowed beneath the brim of a hat. She was wearing breeches, though he could not say he was surprised.

"Elizabeth," he croaked, his voice horse and still somewhat skeptical.

She smiled a dazzling smile, and all of James's control melted. She jumped into his arms and he whirled her about the room, thankful to feel the weight of her against him.

"Oh my God," she sobbed into his shoulder. "I thought you were dead."

He put her down, his heat still beating wildly. "You thought that _I _was dead?"

"Yes," she cried, tears brimming her beautiful brown eyes. "Isla Cruces, you ran off with the chest, I thought for sure they would have killed you. How did you even get off that island?" Elizabeth's eyes grew dark.

"No, no my dear Elizabeth. I thought that _you_ had been killed. All reports were that the Pearl was lost."

Elizabeth grew pensive then. "She was James. Jack thought that he could bargain with Jones. I thought that he had taken the heart from the chest after all. But—" Her tears began to fall violently, even though her voice remained steady. "He failed." She looked up at him, at the man that she had thought perished, the man that had protected her for much of her young life. "James, my God, the heart. Did they take it from you? Did Jones's men harm you for it?"

Suddenly, all the joy that James had felt was drowned in a sea of black guilt. She had been at the mercy of Davy Jones…because they hadn't had the heart to bargain with.

"Wha-what are you doing here? In Port Royal I mean? Where—where is Turner?" The abject joy in his voice had begun to turn sour.

James saw the delicate column of her throat move, as if she were swallowing hard—wondering exactly just what to tell him.

"We," she began. "We ran into difficulties." She squared her eyes directly with his. "I'm heading toward Asia."

"Like hell you—"

"Let me finish, James."

It was the way that she said his name, so comfortably, so effortlessly that made him stop.

"I came to see if I could get to my father, just in case—" The words became caught in her throat. "Just in case I never saw him again."

Oh God, she sounded so sad, the way she had on the ship over from England all those years ago, lamenting her dead mother. He had been her protector then, her own personal fortress of flesh and bone.

"Elizabeth—"

"I came ashore from a ship."

"What ship?"

She looked away from him.

"Elizabeth," agitation crawled into his voice, even though he did not intend it. What madness was afoot here? "What aren't you telling me?"

"I came ashore," she continued, as if he had asked no question. "And I heard them speaking your name. James Norrington. Do you understand what that did to me? James Norrington, they said. A living breathing James Norrington. Alive. _Alive_ James."

Elizabeth recalled the jerk in her heart when she had discovered he was alive, the unanticipated rush of joy that filled her, the way that air had suddenly seemed breathable, as if she had been suffocating for months.

No, she hadn't anticipated feeling like that.

"Whose ship did you come in on?" he asked. "Another of Jack's?"

She deliberately did not answer.

"I've been watching you all day, waiting to see you, to beg you for your help."

"Of course I'll—" Her statement ricocheted in his ears and mind, making James forget his initial question, and remember exactly why he could not help her. "You've been watching me all day?"

"Praying for a moment to see you."

James was silent for a few moments, as if considering his options. "Then why have you not yet mentioned my marriage?" He asked the question quietly, cruelly almost. It was a test, of course it was.

"Why were you married at Cutler Beckett's estate? She asked back, not willing to reveal how the idea of him married was noxious to her.

"Whose ship did you come in on?

"Where did all of this come from? The house, the wealth, the title! Admiral!"

Frustration ripped threw him, and he grabbed her small shoulders, nearly ready to shake her.

"What are you up to Elizabeth! For the love of God tell me."

Elizabeth sighed. She never had been able to lie to him…with one exception.

"_Your answer would not change mine"_

She thought of that moment often, filled with guilt. Yes, guilt. She would die inside if she even considered the notion that it was regret.

"I'm going after Davy Jones with Will, and some others."

"What of Jack?"

She ignored the question, deciding to keep Jack's fate her secret for the moment. Now, she asked her own question.

"Cutler Beckett must have done this for you. What did he get in return?"

"Excuse me?"

"You wanted your life back James. Apparently you got it. So what did you give Beckett?"

"A vow." James said simply.

They both turned to the sound of a candle cashing against the floor and rolling down the stairs. Elizabeth cast her eyes upwards, and for a moment thought that she beheld a ghost. The creature at the top of the stairs was dressed in a long white nightgown that cascaded behind her, and the moonlight that touched her skin made it glow silver. Her hair, a mass of riotous black curls, hung loosely about her small shoulders and reached down her back. Elizabeth felt a stab of self consciousness thinking about he own hair, hacked shorter to make sea life easier.

She, Will, Barbossa and the crew had found (or commandeered, as it were) a fine ship, _The Guierre . _It was a French word that meant warrior. Will had wanted to accompany her ashore, but Elizabeth had been hell bent on going alone. Perhaps her father knew English contacts in the East that could help them, and it would have to be her to reason with him. She could not risk both of them being captured. Someone had to go after Jack.

And then she had spotted James Norrington at a church.

And this was the girl he had married.

Elizabeth felt jealously drip through her bones. The woman atop the staircase was exquisite.

Finally, after several moment of silence, the ghost spoke.

"Somehow," she began, "I think that you must be Elizabeth Swann."

Elizabeth looked at James, who turned a shade paler.

"Yes," Elizabeth nodded. "Yes I am."

The new Mrs. Norrington walked down the stairs—floated was more like it, Elizabeth thought dejectedly. She had never walked so gracefully in all her life.

Closer up, Elizabeth could see that James's wife was older than she appeared at first glance, certainly a few years older than herself.

The older woman smiled a clever smile that did not reach her eyes.

"Good evening Miss Swann," she said in a voice so polished that it sounded as if it belonged at a royal court. "My brother has been looking for you."

At first, Elizabeth did not understand. Her brother? It was when she saw the horrified look on James face that all the pieces of this bizarre puzzle finally flew together.

"_Cutler Beckett must have done this for you. What did he get in return?"_

"_A vow." James said simply_

"My God." Elizabeth felt her legs begin to shake. "You—you are Cutler Beckett's sister, aren't you? I remember." She turned desperately to James. "I remember. When I was a child, still living in England. Lord William Beckett had two children. A boy…"

She turned back to Evelyn. "And a girl." She shut her eyes slowly, only to turn back to James, her voice alight with anger.

"That was the deal you struck? How could you! You married that pig's sister in return for all this?"

"Apparently I'm quite undesirable," Evelyn said in an amused voice, but there were no humor in her words.

James, who had been struck dumb at the sight of his wife and his former fiancée in the same space, suddenly seemed to awaken from his stupor.

"Elizabeth, calm down. You have nothing to fear. My wife will be completely discrete about your presence here."

"I can speak for myself James." Evelyn snapped, her eyes on fire.

"She's a Beckett," Elizabeth sneered, as if the very name were like acid on her tongue.

"And now I'm a Norrington," Evelyn shot back, her face revealing nothing but the cold, icy control that any queen would envy. "And you, apparently, are _still_ a Swann. So between the two of us, I believe it's my word that we'll be trusting. Or are you now in the habit of keeping a fiancé?"

Elizabeth saw red, her rage so palpable that it sucked all the words from her throat. Incapacitated by the snug grin on the other woman's face, she instead turned her venom to James.

"You're nothing but his pawn now, aren't you? You bastard! You let me come into this house while a snake was waiting for me." Suddenly, the air seemed too warm. "Oh God, this was a mistake coming here."

"No Elizabeth," James hissed fiercely, turning his sight away from his wife. "You must believe I would never do such a thing."

"Hell will freeze over before I swing from the gallows!"

"Beckett has no control over me!" James's voice rose, oblivious to anything except Elizabeth. "I swear Elizabeth. Please calm down. I'm an admiral now, my own man. No one else's."

Elizabeth held her breath and looked into his eyes. The were so honest and so safe, and more than anything she wanted to believe him, James Norrington, the one thing in her life that until recently had always been a constant. She would have to remain in Port Royal for at least the next three days before _The Guerrier _could slip into the harbor again undetected.

She exhaled…and without warning ran back into the darkness.

"Elizabeth, wait!" He cried, bounding after her, but it was too dark, and she had grown too quick. It was only a moment before James could not even hear her footsteps anymore.

Evelyn simply stood where she was, the image of James smiling at Elizabeth Swann burned into his mind. Beneath her nightgown, her thighs were still bruised with her husband's fingerprints.

Turning back, he leveled an angry gaze at her. "You will say nothing to your brother." The words were like ice, cold and unfeeling and absolutely befitting an admiral of the Royal Navy. It was not a request, it was a command

"I'm insulted at the presumption." She said, her voice equally cold and aloof.

"I'm not an idiot!" He roared, and Evelyn nearly backed up at his sudden loss of control. "I know well enough why Cutler married me to you. He wanted a spy." His eyes looked through her as if she were loathsome.

Evelyn's voice remained steady, and she kept her face emotionless in the way that only a woman with years of practice can.

"I asked my brother and now I will ask you. The marriage is not enough. I know him too well. What else did you give Cutler?"

James's eyes went wide, but his lips did not move.

"You're keeping something from me," she laughed, the sound pure cynicism. "And apparently from your charming former fiancée as well."

"You. Will. Say. Nothing. To. Your. Brother." His face was turning red with the effort to keep from exploding again.

"Or what? I've had worse men than you threaten me James Norrington."

He tried a different tactic.

"I understand that you are angry—"

"Angry? Angry that on my wedding night, your formerly dead former fiancée decided to have a têtê a têtê with you in the middle of the night, and that when I appear, you look positively horrified that I spoiled the reunion? Angry? Oh really James, why would I have cause for anger?"

"Your sarcasm is not appreciated Evelyn."

"How rude of me," she spat, "I beg your forgiveness."

"Evelyn—"

"Angry James? No, I'm not angry. I've survived worse than you. You're _nothing_."

She stormed back up the stairs, and when he heard a door slam, he assumed it was to her own bedroom.

_Oh God_.

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"Good morning Mr. Mercer."

Evelyn stood outside of her brother's office at the East India Company' headquarters. James had left for the fort before dawn.

"Lady Beckett." The man replied quietly.

Evelyn's mouth opened to point out his mistake, but she was still too angry to correct him. She would rather be a Beckett at the moment.

"Is my brother in?"

"No, my Lady, he's down at the docks."

"I'll wait for him in his office, then."

Mercer seemed to hesitate, but relented. The last thing he wanted to do was upset a Beckett—even if she was now a Norrington. Evelyn brushed past him quickly into the office, shutting the door behind her. Mercer had always terrified her, and she had often wondered why Cutler kept such a strange man at his side. Then again, Mercer had a gruesome scar on his face, and she could guess how he had gotten it.

Oh God, now what? Here she was, standing in her brother's office, and why? What was she going to do now? What? Was she going to do what she had resolved to do? What she had sworn to her brother that she would do?

Why was a part of her screaming that she should run away? That this was wrong? Why—

Evelyn stopped suddenly. All around her, a melody began to fly. Quietly, almost inaudibly, a single line of simple notes—almost haunting, almost possessing.

"A music box?" She asked allowed. Cutler would never keep something as ridiculous as a music box.

But the melody continued, calling to her, digging into her mind, burying itself and refusing to go away.

And it was coming from somewhere inside the office.

Evelyn's heart began to beat faster.


End file.
